A Woman-Hater. Charles Reade
chronicle, Vizard turned sharply to her, and said, “And was he flirting with her?”
Zoe colored a little, and said, “Now, Harrington, how can I tell?”
“You little hypocrite,” said Vizard, “who can tell better?”
At this retort Zoe blushed high, and the water came into her eyes.
Nobody minded that but Uxmoor, and Vizard went on to explain, “That Lady Betty Gore is as heartless a coquette as any in the county; and don't you flirt with her, or you will get entangled.”
“You disapprove her,” said Uxmoor, coolly; “then I give her up forever.” He looked at Zoe while he said this, and felt how easy it would be to resign Lady Betty and a great many more for this peerless creature. He did not mean her to understand what was passing in his mind; he did not know how subtle and observant the most innocent girl is in such matters. Zoe blushed, and drew away from him. Just then Ned Severne came in, and Vizard introduced him to Uxmoor with great geniality and pride. The charming young man was in a black surtout, with a blue scarf, the very tint for his complexion.
The girls looked at one another, and in a moment Fanny was elected Zoe's agent. She signaled Severne, and when he came to her she said, for Zoe, “Don't you know we are going to the opera at Homburg?”
“Yes, I know,” said he, “and I hope you will have a pleasanter evening than I shall.”
“You are not coming with us?”
“No,” said he, sorrowfully.
“You had better,” said Fanny, with a deal of quiet point, more, indeed, than Zoe's pride approved.
“Not if Mr. Severne has something more attractive,” said she, turning palish and pinkish by turns.
All this went on sotto voce, and Uxmoor, out of good-breeding, entered into conversation with Miss Maitland and Vizard. Severne availed himself of this diversion, and fixed his eyes on Zoe with an air of gentle reproach, then took a letter out of his pocket, and handed it to Fanny. She read it, and gave it to Zoe.
It was dated from “The Golden Star,” Homburg.
“DEAR NED—I am worse to-day, and all alone. Now and then I almost fear I may not pull through. But perhaps that is through being so hipped. Do come and spend this evening with me like a good, kind fellow.
“Telegraph reply.
“S. T.”
“Poor fellow,” said Ned; “my heart bleeds for him.”
Zoe was affected by this, and turned liquid and loving eyes on “dear Ned.” But Fanny stood her ground. “Go to 'S. T.' to-morrow morning, but don't desert 'Z. V.' and 'F. D.' to-night.” Zoe smiled.
“But I have telegraphed!” objected Ned.
“Then telegraph again—not,” said Fanny firmly.
Now, this was unexpected. Severne had set his heart upon rouge et noir, but still he was afraid of offending Zoe; and, besides, he saw Uxmoor, with his noble beard and brown eyes, casting rapturous glances at her. “Let Miss Vizard decide,” said he. “Don't let me be so unhappy as to offend her twice in one day.”
Zoe's pride and goodness dictated her answer, in spite of her wishes. She said, in a low voice, “Go to your sick friend.”
“There,” said Severne.
“I hear,” said Fanny. “She means 'go;' but you shall repent it.”
“I mean what I say,” said Zoe, with real dignity. “It is my habit.” And the next moment she quietly left the room.
She sat down in her bedroom, mortified and alarmed. What! Had it come to this, that she felt her heart turn cold just because that young man said he could not accompany her—on a single evening! Then first she discovered that it was for him she had dressed, and had, for once, beautified her beauty—for him; that with Fanny she had dwelt upon the delights of the music, but had secretly thought of appearing publicly on his arm, and dazzling people by their united and contrasted beauty.
She rose, all of a sudden, and looked keenly at herself in the glass, to see if she had not somehow overrated her attractions. But the glass was reassuring. It told her not one man in a million could go to a sick friend that night, when he might pass the evening by her side, and visit his friend early in the morning. Best loved is best served. Tears of mortified vanity were in her eyes; but she smiled through them at the glass; then dried them carefully, and went back to the dining-room radiant, to all appearance.
Dinner was just served, and her brother, to do honor to the new-comer, waved his sister to a seat by Lord Uxmoor. He looked charmed at the arrangement, and showed a great desire to please her, but at first was unable to find good topics. After several timid overtures on his part, she assisted him, out of good-nature, She knew by report that he was a very benevolent young man, bent on improving the home, habits, wages, and comforts of the agricultural poor. She led him to this, and his eyes sparkled with pleasure, and his homely but manly face lighted, and was elevated by the sympathy she expressed in these worthy objects. He could not help thinking: “What a Lady Uxmoor this would make! She and I and her brother might leaven the county.”
And all this time she would not even bestow a glance on Severne. She was not an angel. She had said, “Go to your sick friend;” but she had not said, “I will smart alone if you do.”
Severne sat by Fanny, and seemed dejected, but, as usual, polite and charming. She was smilingly cruel; regaled him with Lord Uxmoor's wealth and virtues, and said he was an excellent match, and all she-Barfordshire pulling caps for him. Severne only sighed; he offered no resistance; and at last she could not go on nagging a handsome fellow, who only sighed, so she said, “Well, there; I advise you to join us before the opera is over, that is all.”
“I will, I will!” said he, eagerly. “Oh, thank you.”
Dinner was dispatched rather rapidly, because of the opera.
When the ladies got their cloaks and lace scarfs, to put over their heads coming home, the party proved to be only three, and the tickets five; for Miss Maitland pleaded headache.
On this, Lord Uxmoor said, rather timidly, he should like to go.
“Why, you said you hated music,” said Vizard.
Lord Uxmoor colored. “I recant,” said he, bluntly; and everybody saw what had operated his conversion. That is a pun.
It is half an hour, by rail, from Frankfort to Homburg, and the party could not be seated together. Vizard bestowed Zoe and Lord Uxmoor in one carriage, Fanny and Severne in another, and himself and a cigar in the third. Severne sat gazing piteously on Fanny Dover, but never said a word. She sat and eyed him satirically for a good while, and then she said, cheerfully, “Well, Mr. Severne, how do you like the turn things are taking?”
“Miss Dover, I am very unhappy.”
“Serves you right.”
“Oh, pray don't say that. It is on you I depend.”
“On me, sir! What have I to do with your flirtations?”
“No; but you are so clever, and so good. If for once you will take a poor fellow's part with Miss Vizard, behind my back; oh, please do—pray do,” and, in the ardor of entreaty, he caught Fanny's white hand and kissed it with warm but respectful devotion. Indeed, he held it and kissed it again and again, till Fanny, though she minded it no more than marble, was going to ask him satirically whether he had not almost done with it, when at last he contrived to squeeze out one of his little hysterical tears, and drop it on her hand.
Now,